


Aftermath

by piaffe417



Category: Blood & Treasure (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Argument in Aisle 17, End of one adventure beginning of a new one, Established Relationship, F/M, Grocery Shopping, Homecoming, How does this work now that the chase is over?, New Adventure, New York City, So much strudel in chapter 3, Songfic, The bond of strudel is strong, Tigers and house cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2020-09-27 14:24:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20409247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piaffe417/pseuds/piaffe417
Summary: “If the act of finding Cleopatra was a miracle, he wonders what Lexi Vaziri and Danny McNamara trying to make a go of it together constitutes.“





	1. Release

_We have kept a light on through the trouble,_  
_Treaded water, in a sea of tears._  
_Now I'm shooting arrows across your night sky,_  
_Trying to land in your atmosphere.  
_  
_If we can make it through the storm,_  
_Become who we were before,_  
_Promise me, we’ll never look back._  
_The worst is far behind us now,_  
_We’ll make it out of here somehow,_  
_Meet me in the aftermath._  
_Oh, meet me in the aftermath_. ~ “Aftermath” - Lifehouse  
  
Since Cairo (and Casablanca and Canada); since Cleopatra (and Reece and Farouk), Danny has developed a new way of looking at Lexi. She supposes he doesn’t think she’s noticed, but she has. It’s there in his eyes when they come to rest on her, there in the way he watches quietly when he thinks she isn’t paying attention.  
  
(Hint, McNamara: She’s _always_ paying attention. Always.)  
  
And anyway, it’s really hard not to notice when a man looks at a woman like she holds the answers to every question he’s ever asked.  
  
She feels the weight of this change in their relationship down to the marrow of her bones and is surprised to realize it doesn’t burden her as she once feared it would, back when she thought giving in to his pull would mean losing a part of herself instead of gaining one. Now she shares the load with Danny and this version of him – the Danny she saved from himself in Cairo – _this_ Danny who carries new confidence after all they’ve been through and _that’s_ the Danny she’d willingly follow all over the planet (again) if she had to.  
  
But first she follows him to New York.  
  
They can’t go right away, of course. First there’s Farouk to capture (_check_), followed by dozens upon _dozens_ of questions to answer from a variety of international agencies (check, _check_). Then there are commercial plane tickets to book (like peasants) because Reece’s private jet (and all of his other assets) are currently as unavailable as he is (check, check, and _check_).  
  
But the delay provides an opportunity to rest, to reconnect with one another, and to rejuvenate from the frantic pace of the chase. After a while, Lexi even begins to feel a bit more like her old pre-Farouk self. She’s less cagey about some things and less reactive about others. But though she finds herself sliding slowly into a new and strange level of semi-contentedness in the aftermath of it all, she watches Danny begin to chafe at the delay in his return to the U.S.  
  
It’s not surprising. With one of his biggest clients accused of a host of very (_very_) significant crimes, Danny needs to take care of those clients who remain in order to maintain some semblance of a successful law practice. And earn a living.  
  
All of which is rather hard to do from an ocean away.  
  
That his laugh is hollow and he merely kisses her forehead in reply when Lexi suggests several very easy items to steal and fence to replenish his coffers while they wait suggests two things:  
  
The first is that their relationship is light years from its rocky roots. The bond of strudel holds firm.  
  
The second, however, is an emphasis of how badly he needs to get back to what’s left of his life in New York, not just to make money, but to dig back into the law he so deeply believes in and make sure that Reece’s treachery hasn’t weakened his resolve in that regard. He needs to know that he hasn’t lost a step or – worse yet – lost his nerve.  
  
He needs to know that after all they’ve seen and learned, he’s still the Boy Scout version of Danny McNamara Lexi loves. That’s the question she sees residing in the space behind his eyes the longer they remain abroad, the longer they’re adrift from the tangible world he’s built for himself back in the States.  
  
At long last Gwen calls to say they’re free to go. Reece will have a trial later, of course (as will Farouk), and Lexi and Danny will (of course) be called to testify, but for now, there’s no reason for them to be at the beck and call of any particular agency. Gwen herself has even been granted some overdue leave time and will depart first thing in the morning for a yet-to-be-determined location. (She shares the last bit of information with sly Swedish subterfuge and Lexi smiles as she realizes how much she’s come to respect the other woman – and all it took was a few knock down drag outs and a shared raid of Chuck’s candy stash.)  
  
After Gwen’s grand announcement, Lexi fully expects to see the good old McNamara resolve return to buoy Danny out of what has not-so-subtly become a funk. Granted, he’s looked less tired lately – the opportunity to sleep late and play tourist will do that for a guy – but the cloud that’s overshadowed his rested state isn’t banished by the good news. In fact, she catches a wave of unexplained fear wash quickly over his face when they simultaneously wish Gwen well in her travels and he ends the speakerphone call with a jab of his thumb before stowing his phone in his jacket pocket.  
  
“Pretty sure you’re supposed to look happier than that right now,” Lexi needles him rather than come out directly to ask what’s going on. Such a ploy still counts as progress in their relationship despite being a roundabout tactic - previously she would have avoided it altogether for fear of the response.  
  
Now she trusts him enough to know he’ll open up when he’s ready. (She just hopes it’s soon. Depressed Danny is unfamiliar and unwelcome territory.)  
  
It turns out ready isn’t his issue, however, and he’s prepared to share at this very moment. With a soft sigh, he tells her: “You know you’re under no obligation to come to New York with me, Lexi…”  
  
“_Excuse_ me?” she expects to feel her jaw hit her chest, such is her shock.  
  
_Everything we’ve been through together, everything we’ve said to each other and **this** is how he reacts when we’re finally free to figure out what **we** want to do next instead of what other people expect of us?!_  
  
But before she hits full fighting mode however, his limpid blue eyes find hers and at once she comprehends the source of the cloud that’s followed him all this time:  
  
_He thinks I need a way out, that he’s keeping me with him against my will._  
  
Danny shrugs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Lex, I’m going back to a boring, normal life in New York. I’m going to run my law practice and go to the gym and sleep late on Sundays and then get up and do the _Times_ crossword. It’s not exactly the pace you’re used to.”  
  
He sighs again and adds, “I’m a house cat and you’re a tiger, remember? I don’t want you to get there and feel boxed in.”  
  
_I’m in love with the sweetest, most adorable, **idiot** in the world - a moron of the highest magnitude. If my eyes roll any farther back into my head, they’ll never right themselves again.  
_  
Somehow right now, however – despite the dark cloud and Charlie Brown aura enveloping him – Lexi realizes that, for her, Danny is the answer to all of the questions _she’s_ ever asked in _her_ life.  
  
Save one:  
  
“You overheard Shaw talking to me that day in the dressing room?”  
  
“I did,” he nods.  
  
“And you think I would need to become a house cat in order to do well in New York – in _your_ New York?”  
  
“I didn’t say that, Lexi…” he starts to speak and she cuts him off sharply:  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
His jaw snaps closed and the fear in his eyes is pronounced – but only for a few seconds more.  
  
“What’s in New York that I want, Danny? What could possibly be there to interest me?”  
  
“I really don’t…”  
  
“_**You**_. You idiot.” Her tone is simultaneously condescending and affectionate.  
  
“I told you a few weeks ago that the happiest times in my life were the ones I’ve spent with you – remember?”  
  
He nods and she continues, “So what makes you think I’m going to let you go to New York without me? You think I’m going to call Shaw and see about setting up my next big score while you’re back in America putting all the wrong answers into the _Times_ crossword?”  
  
“Hang on - I’m good at the crossword!” he protests but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand, spanning the few feet between them to stand toe to toe, hands on her hips. Defiant.  
  
“You’re stuck with me, McNamara. Full stop. No arguments. I’m not _asking_ to go to New York with you. I’m _telling_ you that I’m getting on that plane.”  
  
His eyes brighten to the fierce shine she’s missed and his mouth begins to break into a wide grin as she pulls him down for a kiss she feels to the tips of her toes by the time they break apart.  
  
She does feel the need to finish the argument, however: “You’re not _that_ good at the crossword.”  
  
“Am so!”  
  
“I disagree.”  
  
He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s it, Vaziri - next Sunday, it is _on._”  
  
She grins. “I guess we better pack.”


	2. Relax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He thought merely of crackers and candy as a poor man’s pathetic gesture to make someone he loves feel comfortable with him in this new reality, but somehow it’s gone beyond that in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Obviously Lexi feels the gesture deeply – from the expression on her face, it’s as though a box of crackers has just personally welcomed her home with a hand-decorated banner at the airport.”

_There’s so much more to life than all of the hours, _  
_Moments that just slip beneath our feet. _  
_In a time that we put it all on the table, _  
_And help feels too far beyond our reach._

_If we can make it through the storm, _  
_Become who we were before, _  
_Promise me, we’ll never look back. _  
_The worst is far behind us now, _  
_We’ll make it out of here somehow, _  
_Meet me in the aftermath._  
Oh, meet me in the aftermath. ~ “Aftermath” - Lifehouse

There were a few times during the search for Cleopatra that Danny had to stop and acknowledge the deep, dark part of himself that didn’t actually _want_ to succeed, if only because doing so meant that he and Lexi might not have any reason to stay together afterward.

If that was the case, she’d undoubtedly disappear from his life again and that was hard to imagine. The hunt and everything that had gone wrong (and right) had taught them so much and brought them so close and in sync once more that, rather than fearing the failure of the actual quest, he instead found himself petrified that once it was all over, he’d again wake alone on a chilly fall morning in New York with nothing more than a pile of law journals warming the space on the other side of his bed.

Therefore, it’s beyond his wildest imaginings and anything he dared hope when he awakens back in the city once more and feels the very real sensation of a sleeping Lexi curled gently into his back, the mild floral scent of her hair wafting over the pillows, one of her arms stretched across his ribcage while her face presses gently into the space between his shoulder blades.

_Always the big spoon, never the small is Lexi._

He tries not to disturb her while he squints determinedly at the clock before him on the nightstand. Their flight got in very late (or very early, depending on one’s perspective) and now it’s full daylight outside, a fact which causes his mental gears to grind while he calculates that, thanks to jet lag and general exhaustion, they’ve been out for somewhere in the vicinity of twelve hours.

_Feels like it_, he thinks ruefully.

A near comatose state fully accounts for the crease of the pillow he can now feel in his cheek, as well as a taste in his mouth reminiscent of the inside of Cleopatra’s tomb. The shoulder that took the brunt of his torture in Canada also begins to complain louder the longer he remains motionless, so it’s lucky that just as he decides to yield to its protest, he hears a soft sigh and feels Lexi release herself from the shelter of his body.

He rolls over slowly to face her, muscles protesting stiffly and one elbow making a sound like a gunshot. Across the pillows, a pair of luminous eyes blink rapidly to gain focus, then find his sleep-encrusted blue ones and light up. Still, neither speaks a single word until Danny can’t take it any longer:

“You’re here.”

Lexi blinks again, then inhales slow and deep before her voice cracks to life. “I told you I was coming to New York with you.”

Danny frowns lightly. “That’s not what I meant…”

He’s in the process of constructing the back half of the sentence when she cuts him off the way she always does when his uptake is slower than she’d prefer.

“I know, Danny.”

She’s already crossed the inches between them by the time she gets the words out and all he can think when her body melts against his is that those three words were far more meaningful than they seemed.

She may as well have said, “I know _you_, Danny.” Because she does. But words aren’t needed once her hands and mouth find him and then aches, pains, and mummy-mouth aside, it’s another hour before they make it out of bed. In retrospect, Danny decides this is probably a good thing because in the harsh, unforgiving light of day, Lexi will see very clearly that Danny didn’t lie to her in Casablanca when he said his apartment was tiny.

Perhaps he should have used more accurate words - like “microscopic” or “miniature.”

The one saving grace of the place (and he’s very proud of it) is a substantially over-sized window in the living area that doubles as his office. It faces south and lets in a tremendous amount of light, as well as a not-too-terrible view of a not-too-terrible part of the city. As an added bonus, the long, laser-focused hours of a practicing lawyer and extensive travel to far-flung locations mean Danny hasn’t had a lot of time to add any excessive details that might make it feel too claustrophobic for another person to share.

In all honesty, he’s hardly added any personal touches at all, a fact Lexi acknowledges with a particularly pointed quirk of one eyebrow that speaks more than any words as she surveys the space when they finally climb out of bed. She’s wearing Danny’s t-shirt and nothing else and he’d find the whole thing _very_ incredibly sexy (to a distracting degree) if he wasn’t so self-conscious and chagrined by the eyebrow and the judgement of the woman it’s attached to.

She isn’t wrong. If it weren’t for a shopping list on the fridge (from April and badly in need of an update), a two-year-old invitation to one of Reece’s events (quickly ripped into pieces and thrown in the trash once he spots it), and assorted piles of law journals, articles, photographs, and auction guides piled haphazardly on the kitchen counter and spilling over to the coffee table and his equally over-flowing desk, one could be led to suspect the apartment wasn’t inhabited at all.

Lexi makes no remark on the situation but steps in to change it quickly - partly with her sheer presence and partly in the most material of fashion. They’ve been there not yet twenty-four hours when her boots are kicked off beside the sofa, a shawl drapes over the back of a chair, and Danny’s old lunchbox – surreptitiously rescued from Danny’s old home in Boston by a friend of a friend of one of Lexi’s American contacts, secreted at her behest to Rome, and now returned stateside in her checked luggage – suddenly (but somehow appropriately) appears in a corner of the kitchen, waiting for him to find it a place of honor when he’s ready. He didn’t know she’d gone to the trouble (and it must have cost her something - several favors at least) and it’s a very Lexi-like gesture (one completely heartfelt but that he understands they will rarely, if ever, speak of) that tells him (not so subtly) that he’s home at last.

_They’re_ home at last.

Later as he passes by the bathroom, the sight of their toothbrushes side by side at the edge of the sink give him pause and put a grin on his face that stays for an hour.

They unpack a bit more in the early afternoon, then hit the market to re-stock his pantry and refrigerator as the dinner hour approaches - a necessity, as the only food items left behind when he went in search of Cleopatra were a jar of questionable-looking olives, two cloves of garlic, two boxes of pasta (one penne, one fusilli – Lexi’s inventory is thorough), a bottle of very old Scotch (still good, they both acknowledge), and an obligatory box of baking soda (four years old and more battered than a few of his law books).

As with everything they do, the process of perusing the aisles of the nearby market quickly turns into a debate over what, specifically, they should buy. And what constitutes a staple versus a luxury item. And what normal people have in their pantries and what items are “weird” or not necessary unless one is on the Mediterranean diet or an American toddler (as these are the two extreme ends of the food spectrum that seem to be a running theme through their debate).

Green bananas and fresh grapes, as well as replacement olives, quinoa, tomato sauce, avocados, and a loaf of crusty but fresh bread for example, are easily agreed upon; an oversized box of Lucky Charms cereal – “_What? Sometimes I like a few marshmallows in the morning!_” – elicits an extremely judgmental roll of the eyes from her, followed by a brief withering observation about American breakfast habits in general.

“This from the girl I caught eating Nutella straight from the jar at Chuck’s?”

Danny relishes this small victory when the only retort she can muster is: “We were under a time crunch and making toast would have taken too long.”

She stalks off in search of a particular blend of coffee and a box of tea bags in Aisle Fourteen rather than continue the conversation and Danny watches her go with amusement that quickly converts to a sense of wonder and disbelief as the reality of where he is and what’s happening fully sinks in:

She’s _here_, with _him_, in _New York_. After all they’ve been through (both the first time and then more recently) and all the doubts he had about the two of them ever being able to align their lives into some semblance of normalcy (or the nearest facsimile that both are capable of), the fact that they’re doing something as mundane and traditional as shopping for groceries together is practically unfathomable.

Thus, if the act of finding Cleopatra was a miracle, he wonders what Lexi Vaziri and Danny McNamara trying to make a go of it together constitutes.

Of course, it’s early days yet and he hasn’t resumed his regular work schedule. He can’t avoid it forever, of course (the voicemails and emails are already beginning to pile up considerably) but as the current hero of the art and antiquities scene - plus having a very well established case of jet lag - he’s been able to buy some time. For now.

Still, his last leap into normalcy is coming – soon – and in the pit of his stomach lives the fear that something will happen to mess things up for them again. Not something of an exploding building level, of course (not again, not this time), but something subtle – something he can’t make out on the horizon exactly _because_ it will be small and unobtrusive, something that breaks normal couples up. Finances or jealousy or the fact that he eats the wrong breakfast cereal and one day she won’t be able to stand it any longer.

The fear haunts him – it’s been there since before they ever booked their tickets home, in fact. It’s never been as specific as a breakup over breakfast cereal (which only became a plausible reason a few moments ago), but he can trace it back to the night in Casablanca when they got tipsy and made love under the stars and he offered to get a larger apartment if she wanted to come back to New York with him. _That_ night was the first time he ever really thought about what it would take for them to begin to make it work after the Cleopatra situation was resolved.

_That_ night brought forth the questions and the doubts:

_What if we really **are** star-crossed and we just don’t realize it yet? What if our entire relationship is built on nothing more than adrenaline and sex and a few helpings of strudel?_

With everything that happened after that, the myriad of ways they chose to fight for each other and stay together, the negative voice quieted for a bit, but here in the harsh light of a New York day (and the cereal aisle), Danny hears them resume their refrain.

She’s still in Aisle Fourteen hunting up teabags, so he makes his way to the snack aisle in an attempt to change the subject rolling over and over in his head. By way of distraction, he silently stockpiles a bunch of her favorite crackers and the brand of candy Chuck got her hooked on, dropping them next to the other staples and trying not to laugh at the sheer desperation it takes for one to attempt to secure his entire relationship with nothing more than a few carefully selected snack foods.

_You’re losing it, McNamara_.

She comes around the corner at last, coffee in one hand and tea in the other and goes to place both in the cart before suddenly stopping mid-drop, eyes locked on the snacks he put in while she was in the other aisle.

Her eyes lift and he’s nervous until he ascertains what’s behind her gaze:

_Surprise._

_Amazement._

_Joy._

_**Love**._

He thought merely of crackers and candy as a poor man’s pathetic gesture to make someone he loves feel comfortable with him in this new reality, but somehow it’s gone beyond that in a way he hadn’t anticipated. Obviously Lexi feels the gesture deeply – from the expression on her face, it’s as though a box of crackers has just personally welcomed her home with a hand-decorated banner at the airport.

_Home_. With _him_.

He knows her. Danny knows Lexi inside and out - a fact that’s always annoyed her (unless she’s needed to use it to her benefit – then, of course, she’s appreciated it). And even when he’s doubted himself, he’s proven time and again that if he’s studied one thing more than the law, it’s Lexi Vaziri.

Today he’s proven it in the middle of the snack aisle. And today Lexi seems to appreciate it more than she ever has.

They’re in this together – this new situation (post-worldwide mummy hunt), this new relationship status (committed and actually trying to make it work), and this new day with all of its new possibilities. Danny said the words “We’re in this together” to Lexi on a bridge in Rome and he’ll say them again today in Aisle Seventeen if he has to.

But from the look on Lexi’s face, that isn’t necessary. The crackers in the cart have spoken louder than words ever could.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asks as casually as he can muster, trying desperately not to say the wrong thing in a delicate moment.

“Yep,” she keeps staring at the crackers until she finally releases the coffee and tea into the now nearly full cart. She finally glances back up at him and asks, “Is this everything we came for?”

“I have everything I need,” he nods, then looks quickly down in case she’s caught the double meaning that accidentally slipped in while he wasn’t paying attention.

_Way to go, McNamara_…

Lexi doesn’t visibly react; instead, she moves around the cart and pushes it slightly off to the side so that nothing stands between them. Then, when his hands are freed, she steps forward and laces her fingers tightly through his.

They stand toe to toe and she reaches up to kiss him – swift and hard and not at all embarrassed that they’re not alone in the snack aisle – and Danny hears the doubting voice in his head fall silent once more.

When she finally pulls away, she tells him softly, “So do I.”

Danny grins widely and pushes the cart toward the checkout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a little bit of extra license with this chapter - despite his physique, Danny just seems like a kid cereal kind of guy to me. And I confess that I don’t remember exactly where the lunchbox wound up (and didn’t get back to the episode to check), but I like the idea of it coming back to New York, so there you go.


	3. Resume

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you manage to hang onto this sweater?” She gestures to him with it. “And WHY did you keep it?”
> 
> He must read something new on her face because he comes from the doorway to take it gently from her hand, running his thumb over the hole in the shoulder before he looks down at her and says simply, “It was a crazy day. Everything happened so fast that I threw my stuff in a bag when we ran for the plane. And then everything else happened and I guess I just forgot what this was.”
> 
> “You don’t forget things.” She frowns in disbelief.
> 
> “You don’t clean things,” he shoots back flippantly.

_If we can make it through the storm,_  
_Become who we were before,_  
_Promise me, we’ll never look back._  
_The worst is far behind us now,_  
_We’ll make it out of here somehow,_  
_Meet me in the aftermath._  
_Oh, meet me in the aftermath._  
_Meet me in the aftermath_. ~ “Aftermath” - Lifehouse

  
Lexi lives with Danny in New York a whopping four weeks before the walls close in around her and she attemps to vent her frustration on his unsuspecting closet.

It isn’t his fault, of course. Nor is it the fault of his closet and its (decidedly bland) contents. It’s more the sort of circumstantial combustion one really should anticipate when a newly reformed master thief hangs up her lock pick kit to move in with the Boy Scout of the blood antiquities world.

_Totally predictable behavior given the situation. No cause for alarm._

In the grand scheme of things, the closet raid is but a minor hiccup on the way to whatever comes next. A transition phase. For Lexi _and_ for Danny’s wardrobe.

(At least that’s what she tells herself.)

After all, it isn’t as though a post-Farouk world has been _all_ bad. In the last few months, Lexi has been personally honored by the government of her homeland for heroically returning one of its greatest queens to a place of honor and been widely acknowleged for her contribution to the capture of not one, but _two_ international terrorists. Simultaneously. That isn’t exactly a small deal.

In fact, as far as the Egyptian government, Interpol, the FBI, and a few other fancily-monogrammed international agencies are concerned right now, she’s actually _persona grata_ for once (if that’s a thing - and if it isn’t a thing, it should be). Moreover, to Danny McNamara, she’s a big damn hero in skinny jeans.

He’s a big damn hero too, of course (minus the skinny jeans), but Lexi would be a fool not to recognize the one very stark difference between the accolades _he’s_ received in the wake of their treasure hunt and her own - namely, whereas his career sins were wiped clean away with the final capture of Farouk, hers are still a bit of a sticking point where the outside world is concerned. After all, while Danny built a career entirely on the right side of the law (his adventures with Lexi notwithstanding), Lexi by contrast has a bit of a provenance problem with her resume.

To put it into art terms, she’s the human equivalent of a Syrian statue smuggled out of Damascus during the Iraq war - much admired and extremely valuable, but also far too hot to be handled by the reputable market and therefore relegated to the seedy shadows of the black market.

Art doesn’t come easily out of those shadows and it’s to Danny’s credit that he keeps trying, of course, but that doesn’t change the fact that not everyone sees things the way he does - especially when it comes to Lexi. 

Read: _no one_ sees things the way Danny does when it comes to Lexi, which is why there isn’t an organization on earth that values a thief’s perspective when it comes to tracking down stolen art. Danny’s the only one willing to give her a chance - but even his unwavering belief in her only goes so far. His law practice - though booming, thanks to his newly-enhanced LinkedIn profile (now boasting skills like locating supposedly un-find-able relics and being a generally handsome bad ass fighter of terrorism) - is still somewhat precarious. He’s lost his biggest client to a looming prison sentence (for said terrorism) and then his sole employee (read: Danny himself) spent the better part of the summer out of the office (finding said relics), so there’s a lot of rebuilding to be done. 

If he’s to mine his recent success appropriately, he can’t just hire a former thief to help him out with his casework and expect his new clients to jump for joy - even if she _does_ figure prominently into all of his positive press (and look particularly heroic in skinny jeans).

The provenance problem seems insurmountable; once a thief, always a thief according to the world.

_To the world **except** for Danny._

Still, despite the lack of job prospects for a used master thief, living with Danny (so far) isn’t half bad – though she’s annoyed to learn that of course he’s perfect enough to pick his dirty socks up off the floor and put them in the hamper.

Every. Bloody. Time.

His work schedule leaves a lot to be desired, however, because even though he manages to avoid it for a time, his overflowing voice and email boxes eventually get the better of him. Danny’s narrowly nerdy talents have never been in such high demand, a fact that astounds him as much as her - though not necessarily for the same reasons.

“I’m impressed that you take clients who actually pay these days,” Lexi pokes fun at him over dinner at home one night. “What happened to the penniless but principled Danny McNamara I fell in love with?”

He takes her teasing in stride and counters with: “I didn’t know pro bono work was so appealing to you, but I guess I can offer people their money back…”

“No way,” she shakes her head and seizes a wonton fiercely with her chopsticks. “One of us needs to be a productive member of society right now and you’re definitely better suited to that role.”

“Please tell me you’re still ducking Shaw’s calls, though,” he pleads as he reaches for the rice.

She wordlessly hands him another packet of soy sauce and frowns at the implication. “My contribution to society right now is _avoiding_ Shaw’s calls, if you must know. Although it’s worth mentioning that the work he’s offering may be more lucrative than what you’re doing.”

“Maybe not,” Danny counters, then looks instantly sheepish.

Lexi’s eyes widen sharply. “Danny McNamara: _profitable_ attorney at law?! Has the world gone mad? Am I living with a total stranger?”

He laughs and tells her, “Here’s the summary: I’m too busy at the moment to come bail you out if you decide to work with Shaw and it goes south - _however_, I can definitely afford to send someone to bail you out. So keep that in mind.”

“What makes you think it would go south?” She pretends to be offended just long enough to answer her own question aloud at the very same time Danny also responds:

“_Shaw_!”

“Sometimes he’s too much tiger for his own good,” Danny shakes his head.

“For _anyone’s_ good,” Lexi corrects him. She waits a beat, then glances sideways at Danny and adds, “Besides, I think I’m starting to prefer house cats.”

“Is that so?” His eyebrow raises.

“I mean, not _all_ house cats,” she replies archly. “Just the really profitable ones...”

Danny laughs at that, but the next look that passes between them results in the rest of their dinner (as well as the dishes) sitting untouched until morning. Several of Danny’s files also suffer collateral damage in their hasty retreat from the table to the bedroom, clothes littering the narrow hall like oversized breadcrumbs in their wake. 

(Note: Danny’s socks do _not_ make it to the hamper.)

Later as she curls softly into Danny’s back in the bed that _just_ fits in the tiny bedroom of his cramped apartment, Lexi thinks for a brief second that, after the crazy, jet-lag-inducing weeks they spent chasing Farouk and Cleopatra and despite her lack of (credible) job leads since it ended, the respite she’s found is welcome. In New York, her patterns are so starkly different from days spent couch surfing from one country to the next (usually one step ahead of Interpol) that she wonders if maybe the settled life her father wished for her in this very city might have found her at last.

Then she wakes alone the next morning (Danny having snuck out before dawn for a breakfast meeting downtown) and is suddenly and desperately disillusioned with the entire thing.

**_Bam_**. From content to loose ends in the time it takes her to come to full consciousness and with no solid explanation for it. Moreover, the only experiences she has to compare to the unsettled, skin-crawling feeling that now envelopes her are the rare occasions in the past when she’s awakened in jail - and to be fair, waking up in jail has always given her an instant sense of renewed purpose in the form of plotting her hasty escape.

Thus, her go-to move on this day is to try to shake the feeling with the exact same urgency with which she once exited a jail cell in Bahrain. (Read: In less than an hour.)

She wanders to the kitchen where she makes the perfect cup of tea, re-reads the text from Danny that promises he’ll be back by noon (in America, Danny overuses emojis, she’s learned), even does a bit of yoga, yet still finds that the discontent lingers like a low hum in the background, a gentle buzz that prickles and persists. And while it’s not the same feeling of being so constricted by life and circumstance that she strains to break free, it’s close. 

Disconcertingly close.

For the old Lexi - the pre-Danny Lexi - the feeling might have driven her to steer her energies toward a heist to take the edge off, to cast off the rules in the most direct and blatant way available to her. But while it doesn’t help that the Guggenheim isn’t _that_ far away, new Lexi knows that isn’t the answer to this question.

Of course, no other answer readily presents itself either, which is why the decision to clean the apartment is more a method of distraction than a commentary on the state of her accommodations. The sole problem with said distraction, however, is that the apartment is miniscule and Danny is (of course) a total neat-nick. As such, the kitchen and living areas take no time at all and the tiny bathroom takes even less effort than that.

And while a thorough wardrobe purge is often good for the soul of any woman, when she reaches the bedroom, Lexi very quickly realizes that all of her clothes (and her life) fit tidily into a single large suitcase that, when upacked, only occupy two drawers in Danny’s dresser. It’s state of being that is (admittedly) handy for moving into one’s boyfriend’s miniature apartment, of course, but also means there’s nothing of her own worth purging because the recent Cleopatra adventure took care of that. Many of her clothes were damaged or lost along the way and she hasn’t replaced them because hanging out in Danny’s apartment or exploring the city with him on weekends doesn’t require high fashion or formalwear.

Danny’s wardrobe is a different story, however.

She turns her attention to his closet - his perfectly organized, pin straight, boring-as-hell closet - and dives in. His blazer collection runs the gamut from olive green to various shades of brown and khaki and then (of course) the ubiquitous navy he’s so fond of - nearly all with elbow patches and each one on a sturdy wooden hanger to help maintain its shape. An array of button down Oxford shirts hang neatly in a muted, earthy color scheme designed to coordinate effortlessly with the blazers. (And by “effortlessly,” Lexi knows the shirts and blazer mix and match because when Danny’s laser-focused on his work, he’d be just as likely to wear two conflicting plaids at the same time if everything wasn’t interchangeable). All of these characteristics add up to the reason dressing him up in her ex-boyfriend’s over-priced, over-tailored suits when they first arrived in Rome amused her so much. It was the antithesis of Danny in so many ways (_all_ of the ways, really) and his protest over the cost of designer t-shirts alone made it worth the effort of breaking and entering.

His closet in New York, then, is a window straight into the heart of Danny McNamara. It’s organized like he is. It’s calm and straightforward and values function over form. It’s not at all pretentious or showy - and it smells faintly of his cologne. 

She stands and stares (and smells) for a drawn out moment, hands on her hips in preparation for combat with a particularly boring shirt in her direct eyeline, but when she reaches for it, she finds that she can’t make her hand obey. As much as she appreciates designer t-shirts and bold fashion choices in other men, those things are so much the opposite of Danny that she suddenly feels that to wrench things from the heart of his wardrobe would be to begin to tear at the fabric of him as a person.

And he’s _her_ person - boring blazers and all.

Mid-musing, she spots a small battered duffle on the closet floor that she recognizes from Rome but that seems to have been tossed there upon their return but never opened.

_At least unpacking it will kill a good ten minutes_, she thinks sarcastically, wondering how the impossibly neat Danny managed to miss it in the first place. She yanks the bag onto the bed and pulls the zipper open, revealing a pair of dirt-streaked jeans and a couple of pairs of socks that desperately need the laundry.

She’s in the middle of the thought that laundry might be her next logical (ten minute) distraction when her hand lights on something soft crumpled on the bottom of the bag. When she pulls it into the light, she draws a sharply surprised breath:

It’s a sweater.

More specifically, it’s an ordinary cotton blend sweater that could be blue or green or gray depending on the light; a sweater that could easily mix into the rest of Danny’s collection on any day, save for a perfect round hold in the left shoulder - a hole prominently stained with rust red blood dried to a crisp stiffness after its long journey. 

It’s the sweater Danny wore in Canada, Lexi realizes - the sweater he wore when the son of the old Nazi shoved an ice pick into his shoulder. It’s the one he wore when Lexi could hear his screams from hundreds of yards away, the sweater Lexi buried her face in when Danny held her after Fabi died.

She stares at the stained sweater in her hand and remembers the look on Danny’s face when she burst in to rescue him:

Relief. Admiration. Joy. _Love_.

These days, he still looks at her that way every time she returns to the apartment - as though while they’ve been apart, he’s been struck by a sudden sense that she’s vanished from his life again, that if he can’t see her, she might be gone for good. And when he is reassured that she exists, his whole face glows.

It’s that exact glow she catches on his face when she hears a noise behind her, turns, and realizes Danny’s back early from his breakfast meeting.

Ever-perceptive, however, he grows instantly concerned when he sees her expression.

“What’ve you got there?” he asks and she holds the sweater up for him to see, then watches surprise wash over him the way it did her. “Hang on - is that...?”

“You forgot to unpack a bag,” she cuts him off with a shrug that she hopes looks more casual than it feels. Thinking about how close Danny came to death that day is disconcerting and definitely doesn’t help her current mindset. “I went on a bit of a cleaning spree and...”

“...attacked my closet?” Danny’s eyebrows knit in semi-amusement.

Instead of coming to her side as initially seemed to be his instinct, however, he quickly crosses his arms over his chest and assumes a stance that signals he’s settling in for a debate. Or an interrogation. Possibly both. (With Danny and Lexi, conversations can easily go either way.)

“You have to admit your closet was due for a clear out,” she keeps her voice low in the feeble hope that she can avoid telling him about the restlessness that’s overcome her this morning or what she feels as she holds the sweater in her hand. He’s been visibly worried about making sure she feels comfortable in New York and she can’t stand the idea of telling him she was only tough enough to make it a month and now she’s getting itchy feet.

And fingers.

Hell, even her brain itches.

He frowns. “I’m not sure I have to admit anything here - though I was looking for those jeans the other day, so thanks for that.”

“How did you manage to hang onto this sweater?” She gestures to him with it. “And _why_ did you keep it?”

He must read something new on her face because he comes from the doorway to take it gently from her hand, running his thumb over the hole in the shoulder before he looks down at her and says simply, “It was a crazy day. Everything happened so fast that I threw my stuff in a bag when we ran for the plane. And then everything else happened and I guess I just forgot what this was.”

“You don’t forget things.” She frowns in disbelief.

“You don’t clean things,” he shoots back flippantly.

They have a brief staring standoff, but an already-frayed Lexi breaks first: “Explain the sweater and I’ll stay out of your closet.”

“Admit that you’re miserable in New York and I’ll share my big news,” he counters in the challenging tone she normally finds sexy. To win this argument (or any argument), however, she would testify under oath that she finds it obnoxious.

_Damn Boy Scout._

“I’m not miserable,” she argues weakly. “In fact, up until this morning, I was perfectly content...”

She trails off when she remembers that he can read her like a book and ultimately lets the truth spill out: “...and then I woke up out of sorts and... Okay. Fine. I’m starting to go a little stir crazy here because I don’t fit into your world and I’m not sure how to fix it. All right? Is that what you want me to say? Are you happy now?”

“I’m happy when I’m with you,” he uses an excessively reasonable tone of voice and she debates whether to punch him or if she should just pull him into bed and have her way with him. The bed is winning when Danny somehow fails to read _that_ on her face and keeps talking:

“And I’m happier when you’re happy.” He’s in clear earnest. “And even though my practice is booming and you’re here, it’s not the same as it was in Egypt and Rome. That was us being really together, working together...”

“...getting arrested together,” she interrupts sarcastically.

“Assembling clues together,” he counters.

“Nearly dying together.” They both know she’s needling him on purpose now because she feels cornered and irrational, but Danny doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay, okay,” he acquiesces to appease her. “But the point is, last summer was more together than we’ve been able to be lately.”

“So you’re saying you miss me?”

“I’m saying I’m not a house cat anymore and you never were,” he replies evenly.

“Please, let’s not bring Shaw into a perfectly pleasant conversation,” Lexi rolls her eyes and feels some of her tension ease in spite of everything. “Instead, let’s talk about this big exciting solution you’ve come up with for our situation. That _is_ your news, isn’t it?”

Danny beams. “Are you familiar with the Spanish pirate Martin Yanes?”

“The guy who stole half the treasure of the dead Bishop Thibaud de Castillon in 1357?” Lexi feels like a contestant on _Jeopardy_ for a brief moment.

“The very same.” Danny looks like a kid on Christmas morning and Lexi feels a bit of his excitement transfer to her, though she isn’t sure yet exactly where he’s going with this.

“Are you saying we’re going to look for a treasure that no one has managed to find in seven centuries?”

“We are.”

“And you think that we’ll be successful where others have failed for what reason, specifically?”

Danny’s response is that of a cat full of fresh canary: “We have a new and credible lead.”

Lexi’s withering gaze prompts him to explain further: “Look, let’s just say that our rattling some old Nazi cages while hunting down Cleopatra has shaken out a few other interesting antiquities and that some _extremely_ unique pieces just turned up on the black market in Morocco. Apparently said pieces are attached to a new terror cell that just formed in Tunisia, so if this works out, we might not be done sticking it to the Nazis _and_ we get to fight some more terrorism too.”

She grows thoughtful. “I _do_ enjoy sticking it to the Nazis. I really do. But can I ask who gave you the new and credible lead?”

Danny chuckles. “Apparently Gwen’s Moroccan holiday wasn’t as restful as she’d hoped.”

Lexi laughs and feels a stirring inside begin to overtake the morning’s discontent. Cautiously, she asks, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, McNamara?”

“Pack your bags, Vaziri,” he reaches gallantly for her and the bloody sweater falls to the floor.

She can’t believe she’s about to be the more rational of the two of them in this moment (of all moments), but after he kisses her, she feels compelled to ask more questions. “Wait, wait, _wait_. What about your new clients? What about profitability? Don’t you have cases to finish and work to do _here_?”

He gives a self-satisfied grin. “I thought you liked me penniless and principled?”

She jabs his left shoulder (which she knows is still sensitive) with her index finger. “Danny McNamara, so help me...”

“Hey - _ow_!” He pulls her close enough to stop the poking. “The breakfast meeting I had this morning was with an old friend from law school whose far larger practice just bought me out. They’re going to handle all of the client contacts and office-type stuff while you and I are out in the field doing what we do best.”

“Nearly dying while hunting down old Nazis and sampling the strudel of the world?”

“Yep.”

She’s the one to kiss him this time - hard and fast - but then has to revisit their initial conversation: “Just to recap, you saved the sweater because it was a reminder of the very romantic moments from our last trip abroad or...?”

He releases her all to quickly and makes his way over to his closet to throw things into a different, larger duffle, but it doesn’t prevent her from seeing the tops of his ears turn red.

“_**Danny**_.”

He slowly faces her, his face that of a sheepish little boy. “I didn’t really forget about the sweater. I kept it because... uh...”

She waits a long moment for him to finish.

“When Steiner was torturing me, he called you my girlfriend,” Danny says, speaking rapidly out of embarrassment, the words tumbling over themselves: “And I told him you weren’t my girlfriend and then I got mad at myself because I figured I was about to die and had somehow gotten into an argument with a Nazi sympathizer sticking an ice pick into my shoulder about our relationship status...”

“I feel like we should be approaching a point here...” Lexi frowns impatiently.

He sighs: “I realized after we were headed back to Rome - you know, after everything with Fabi - that you’re not my girlfriend you never have been and that’s why I couldn’t use the word even though there was an ice pick in my shoulder and...”

Lexi feels a mask of confusion cover her face as she interrupts him, “But we’re a _couple_, so...”

“You’re my _partner_, Lex,” Danny shrugs, hands held awkwardly before him. “In everything. You’re my partner in work, in life...” He pauses pointedly, then raises his eyebrows and adds: ”...very often in crime...”

“And strudel,” she interjects as she tries not to allow the fresh flow of feelings to overwhelm her. “Don’t forget the strudel.”

“Always in strudel,” he agrees solemnly. He pauses before he adds: “I love you, Lex. You’re my other half and I was wearing that dumb sweater when I finally realized it and I just couldn’t bring myself to...”

His words cease when Lexi stops his mouth with her own. They both feel a lot right now, she knows, but neither wants to talk about it if they don’t have to. It isn’t their way. And anyway, they have travel arrangements to make - as soon as Lexi asks Danny one more pressing question:

”We aren’t breathing a word of this to Shaw are we?”

”Oh hell no!”

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter hated me for a while......
> 
> Between my fall busy season at work and the characters not doing what I wanted them to, this took far longer than I wanted to complete, but now here we are. Please note that I am not a historian by trade so all of my research into famous missing treasures adds up to a Google search thorough enough to get Danny and Lexi off onto a follow up adventure that is (I hope) semi-credible at least.
> 
> (Let’s be real - we’re getting a second season so they’re going to have to go looking for some obscure something-or-other, right?)
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Come on, you know you wanted to see these two try to navigate a post-adrenaline world wherein he’s still a lawyer with responsibilities and she’s still Lexi. (Grins.) Yeah. Me too.
> 
> Going for three chapters here - just a quick glimpse into their transition back into “civilian life” and adjustment into their newly re-established relationship. Song credits to Lifehouse (“Aftermath” has long been a favorite of mine for fic fodder); also am not saying I’m completely accurate in how legal proceedings will move forward for Reece and Farouk, so forgive any mistakes. (I didn’t go to law school and none of my lawyer friends were consulted on this fic. That should be painfully obvious.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!


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